Greg Molyneux Photography

Tag: cedar run dock road

Cedar Run Dock Road photography made by Greg Molyneux

Goodbye Sun
Goodbye Sun — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/15
Welcome back to Standard Time!—ugh. If you’ll allow me this moment for an airing of grievances. No fan am I of the cyclical cessation of Daylight Savings Time. Being a veteran on team Not A Morning Person I need to milk as much evening daylight as possible. Were it up to me we’d bask in perpetual latter day light on the forever Daylight Savings side of things—no more of the falling back/springing forward nonsense. I’ll concede the one day we get an extra hour of sleep is nice and all, but really it’s just a cheap marketing gimmick to help us try to feel better about ourselves; and let’s keep it real, when it’s ripped away from us each spring keyboard warriors take to Facebook and decry the personal affront felt by all. And while I’m sure many of you may find appeal in a world of no more time shifts I suspect you may find your allegiances hitched up to the Standard Time bandwagon. That’s OK but I’d like to ask just one thing: is the thought of 4:00 a.m. sunrises in summer really that appealing? No thank you, I will take my 8:00 p.m. summer sunsets year in and year out.
Quick photo talk time. I hit up Dock Road yesterday afternoon around 5:30—see the sun already sets early enough as it is!—and while it’s no doubt my go-to spot I wound up shooting from a vantage point I’ve yet to use in my half decade of photographing. Down at the far southeast end I posted up at the bulkhead of Stafford Municipal Boat Ramp and shot out over the bay with a southeast orientation. The light was great, and the clouds milling about the horizon were pretty great, too. Ditching the tripod and my usual bracketing I went handheld and executed my little motion blur technique—the one where I intentionally create a blurry, out of focus look on the exposure. Adding a bit of motion that brings a more painterly feel; it pairs nicely here with the otherwise minimalist look of the frame. That’s it for me, enjoy your next few months of 5:00 p.m. darkness.
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November 6, 2016
Play Your Hand
Play Your Hand — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/50
Your eyes do not deceive you. This is a blurry photograph. Its execution by design. Why? you may ask. While the question gets right to the heart of it, my answer makes up with simplicity what it lacks in profundity. Personal style. As simple as I like it. Every now and then when I am out shooting I will take the camera handheld, hold it out in front of my chest at a comfortable arm’s length, and rotate at the hips panning from left to right parallel to the horizon at an even pace. During the rotation I will depress the shutter to create an image that introduces motion blur, intentionally removing sharp focus from the exposure.
While it’s hard to articulate exactly why I like this atypical landscape I think it comes down to a few attributes. First is movement. Motion blur adds a rotational element giving the viewer a sensation of spin. Look up at the clouds. Do you see the parabolic swoop from left to right that plunges downward toward the horizon at the center of the photo? Good. Notice how its inverse arcs with a rainbow arch at the bottom of the frame? Perfect. If you drew a line vertically in the center of the photo it would appear as though this image is spinning like a top. Reflective of the earth itself spinning about its axis. For me it’s a photographic reminder that we’re all objects set constantly in motion.
Second is form. When you strip away a photograph from its sharply focused constituent parts you’re left with its raw elements. Its shape. Its essence. With the sharpness gone you don’t have to become bogged down in the details. Instead I invite you to take in the elements of the photograph on a more holistic level. What do you see in this photograph even though you can’t see it well? The clouds? The tide pool? Or is it a pond? Is that marsh? A wheat field? Or something else? How does your mind fill in the details? I suspect our answers may differ as our own preconceived notions will render this image to our own bias. Is that a house to the left on the horizon? A car? Maybe a boat? These questions, are they necessary or are they beside the point? Like this photograph the answer is purposefully blurred.
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October 19, 2016
Fire on the Horizon
Fire on the Horizon — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/60
This photograph is raw. Hardly the polished HDR landscape propped up by a firm tripod and bracketed exposures I usually produce. Here things are basic and flawed. As intense golden hour light poured over the Cedar Run Dock Road marsh on Sunday I was having a ball walking around popping off single frame hand shot exposures. It’s liberating to break away from the stationary tripod life sometimes. Pacing the roadside back and forth my eyes settled upon a pool of water wedged between the road’s shoulder and the marsh itself. A few inches of fresh rain left plenty of water throughout the wetlands, and the reflection on the still puddle commanded my attention. From there the process was pretty low-tech—squat low and place the camera about two inches above the water level, roughly a foot away from the edge of the marsh grass and squeeze the shutter. I wanted to capture a blown out sun and lens flare through the grass while capturing clouds in the water’s reflection. I am pleased with the quick execution of an otherwise spontaneous plan.
This lyrically inspired photo title goes to the excellent reggae band, Stick Figure. “Fire on the Horizon” is track one off their 2015 album, Set in Stone. Kudos to Ben Wurst for cluing me in to this band. Solid grooves, folks. Solid grooves.
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October 12, 2016
Real Feel
Real Feel — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I’m not above cliché and could easily drop the ubiquitous Winter is Coming—but I won’t. Instead, and as you might have guessed, I will talk about the cold’s arrival Sunday evening out on Cedar Run Dock Road. A sharp north wind bore down over the open marsh carrying with it a bitter message, howling of our frozen fate to come. Everything about the hour long photo session fast-forwarded the fall to winter progression in the collapsed space of a fading afternoon. From the vision enhancing crystal clear air, to the stoked northerlies painting the unmistakeable blue color that only shows when the temperatures fall. Yes, the cold is coming, but so too is the prospect of the magnificent skies only a winter can bring. Here’s to freezing our butts off in anticipation of the next great season of sunset photography. My memory card is ready, my hands are not.
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October 11, 2016
Eye Up
Eye Up — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I made this sunset photograph Monday, October, 3 out at my usual Cedar Run Dock Road stomping grounds. Conditions were solid and after several weeks of little to no shooting it was worthwhile just to be out there. I could nitpick the low-level clouds over the horizon that kept things from really exploding after the sun slipped below, but coming out a week of endless clouds and rain I was, and am still, in no position to complain.
Let’s get wonky
While I took time on Tuesday to run through my usual Lightroom to Photomatix and back to Lightroom workflow, I was too lazy to blog it up and fire it off for modest internet consumption. Taking a second look today, Wednesday, I started having second thoughts: I hemmed and hawed between two similar compositions with the lone difference being their perspective by way a horizon placement at the middle of the frame vs. placement of the horizon at the lower third—which is the photo shown above. It took a long hot shower and some dinner to move me to a decision.
As a general rule—and remember rules are made to be broken—I prefer a center mass horizon; this is especially true when working at wide angles. This minimizes the distortion caused by sharp angles diving toward the image’s vanishing point, which is exacerbated when you position the horizon in either the top or bottom third. In this case I deviated from standard operating procedure on account of ample cloud action to fill the upper two-thirds coupled with a less than stellar foreground of repetitive marsh grass. Were the horizon to be placed center frame the tide pool slides back to the middle ground and loses a touch of prominence. By taking a composition that favors sky real estate the tide pool is brought forward in the lower third—this has an added benefit insofar as the clouds are better reflected than its center horizon counterpart.
Did I make the right decision? Who knows? This line of thinking may be pedantic but there’s benefits in challenging your own workflows and assumptions. The right balance of purposeful critique measured against the pitfalls of perfectionism will help drive you forward in any of your life’s endeavors. Or it’ll just drive you nuts.
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October 5, 2016
Stacked
Stacked — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Post number 300 is here and on this website, and I am pleased it’s a good one. I’m not versed in the psychology of it all but there’s something about round numbers that satisfies the human brain. In the grand scheme of things it’s no different than picking some other arbitrary endpoint as a numerical goalpost for random celebration, but sticking with base 10 numbering has a certain mathematical ease to it—see also why we should use the metric system. Ahem.
With the 2016 Labor Day sky showing much promise I made for my usual Dock Road stomping ground hunting for a sunset. Instead of hitting the dock pilings or my go-to marsh spot, I made for the far east end. I made for Antoinetta’s. I’m no stranger to this composition though it’s one I tend to avail myself of more readily in the winter months. Not only is the sun angle more workable, setting more to the southwest, the parking lot is bustling with cars and eager patrons during the summer months. It’s just an easier time to stay out of people’s way. As an added advantage to shooting Antoinetta’s during fall and winter is a lesser need to worry about our beloved terrapins nesting in the cold winter months—the wildlife offseason, if you will.
Initially I had a slightly different angle of my composition dialed in. I was swung a bit more to the east (left in this photograph) with a more westward orientation of the frame itself. Not to mention I was at full standing height with the tripod so as to get a better angle on the water. While I liked what I saw I quickly remembered a photo I had seen on Facebook recently that brought the stacked stones—would be cairns—into the foreground. Said photo was from a longtime resident of Dock Road and all around good guy. Inspired I collapsed my tripod to its lowest height, swung back toward the north, tucked in close to the stacked stones, and made my photograph with a more southwestward orientation—bringing the stones firmly into the foreground. From there the sun handled the rest. Myself and a few other revelers were treated to a warm, orange sunset on a gorgeous late summer night. I even did a live stream from my Facebook if you’re interested.
So cheers to round numbers and here’s to the next 100.
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September 7, 2016
Still the Sirens Call
Still the Sirens Call — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Listen with care to this, now, and a god will arm your mind. Square in your ship’s path are Seirênês, crying beauty to bewitch men coasting by; woe to the innocent who hears that sound!
Lady Kirkê, in spite of her transformative machinations that rendered men into swine, offered warning to Odysseus when discussing possible routes for a treacherous return to Ithaca. For after passing the Sirens Odysseus would have to make a choice.
It is easy to bow at the feet of the enchanted. To fall prey to the allure of false confidence when faced with sights so beautiful and sounds so serene. A transcendent manifestation of the senses that can bring even the most wary among us to feed at the palm of a menacing stranger’s hand.
As I stood along the banks of Cedar Run—that’s the creek you see before you—mind, body, and soul spirited to sanctuary where the pressing needs of the worlds demands were nary a whisper in the dark. A 360 degree Shambhala sparked to light in a ring of fire as the sky ignited around me in a chorus of pink, yellow, purple, and orange. Entranced in the wake of a sunset the likes of which I’d seldom seen a subtle symphony of sounds joined in to call me to the sea. Seduced, thoughts no more tangible than the moment of creation melded as one, fused in the blank canvas of a mind that for a brief unhurried moment knew no bounds. At complete peace, exposed to the reality around me.
As the blaze burned down to ember I stepped back from my malaise, freed from an enchantment of which I was so wholly subsumed to remember fell deeds awake. The extratropical remnants of Hermine will be impacting the immediate Mid-Atlantic coast in the coming days, and we’d do well to heed Kirkê’s warning and steer clear of the Sirens’ call. We must remain vigilant and whole for someplace far away Penelope is always waiting.
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September 3, 2016
Transition
Transition — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
The calendar has flipped. September is here and with it meteorological fall. You see for meteorologists—of which I am not—the seasons align a bit different from the astronomical seasons of which we’re all quite familiar. Among mets winter runs December 1–February 28; spring occurs March 1–May 30; summer spans June 1—August 31; with fall happening September 1–November 30 on the calendar. So in some circles we’ve come to the fall season—if only technically. Yesterday on the Cedar Run Dock Road marsh evidence of the fall transition was all over the place—seabirds in lesser numbers, our sun setting much earlier, and perhaps most obvious to me, an increase in yellows and browns festooned over marshland that grows more dormant by the day.
For the landscape photographer the palette of early fall colors integrated in the marsh grass creates opportunity for visually appealing images full of depth and contrast. Things are even better when you have an ideally positioned cumulus cloud in the sky illuminated in rich pastels of the setting sun. Better still is when it aligns just so as to reflect pink and purple hues in a well positioned tide pool. It may not be a seven letter Scrabble worthy triple word score that has a ‘z’ in it, but hey, it wracks up a few points on an intangible scorecard somewhere.
While we’re on the topic of transition our weather along the coastal Mid-Atlantic is about to take a serious turn. The remnants of Hurricane Hermine are now moving through eastern North Carolina (as of 3:00 p.m. EDT on 9/2/2016) where it will eventually eject out over the relatively warm water of the Atlantic Ocean. From there forecast models continue to look worse and worse for my area—southern coastal New Jersey. As this storm slides northeast over water plenty warm enough to reignite storm growth allowing a transition back to a warm core system, Hermine may again return to hurricane status as it eyes up our vulnerable shoreline. My concern is growing by the hour, and for folks living on the water please stay vigilant and heed any and all warnings and emergency response team recommendations. I’m sure I’ll have more on this in the coming days. Suffice to say the marsh you see above, and have seen so many times in my photographs, will be under feet of water as Hermine pounds the region with days of potentially dangerous storm surge.
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September 2, 2016
Up Sky
Up Sky — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Howdy, folks. I’ve been off the sunset grind for a few weeks now. And as I bust out my handy-dandy excuse maker’s guide the half-finished flowchart reveals it’s a combination of conflicting schedules, lots of storm action, overcast skies, work, and also a human need to relax a bit. In the absence of anything recent, I’m throwing it back to July 20, 2016, where I already posted one killer sunset from a high caliber evening of Good Shots™. As much as I may not want to admit it summer has begun to wind down. Le sigh. While we’re still a few months away from the Great Browning, an astute observer will have already noted the day shortening sculptor chipping away at both ends. While I’ll be sad to see the summer glory go, there’s much to be excited for as the year winds down. Most notably: sunsets. (And MakersFest!) Sure the days will shorten and the air will grow cold, but with it will come a steady stream of sparkling evening skies. For now, though? Let’s keep this summer fire burning. Cheers!—and as you were.
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August 2, 2016